


Bi the Way (On the Gay and Narrow)

by RetroactiveCon



Series: Praying That It'll Be You [10]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Bisexual Disaster Barry Allen, Good Parent Joe West, M/M, Osgood Rathaway's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RetroactiveCon/pseuds/RetroactiveCon
Summary: “I—I totally understand if you would rather not, but I’d love to hear your story about, y’know, realizing everything. If you want to tell me. Which you don’t have to.”
Relationships: Barry Allen/Hartley Rathaway
Series: Praying That It'll Be You [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562548
Comments: 6
Kudos: 97





	Bi the Way (On the Gay and Narrow)

Winter arrives with the requisite fury of nature. With the advent of the first vigorous snowstorm of the year, Central City plunges from mildly chilly to bitterly cold. Barry, whose accelerated metabolism generates sufficient heat to warm a small room, feels nothing. Hartley, by contrast, requires three or four warm layers before he can brave the outdoors. Even indoors, he’s seldom without a cardigan. When he’s at home (and that, too, should worry him, how quickly their shared apartment became ‘home’ to him), he also grabs the throw blanket and either curls up underneath it or wears it like a cape. 

“Is it that cold?” Barry asks. He curls beside Hartley on the sofa and pulls a corner of the blanket over himself. Hartley presses against his side, desperate to be close to his radiant warmth. 

“I’m less resistant to the cold than most,” he says, grimacing. “‘Seventy pounds soaking wet,’ remember.” That had been Cisco’s contribution—bold words from a man not much taller or heavier than Hartley.

Barry wraps an arm around Hartley’s shoulder and pulls him closer. He lays his head on Barry’s shoulder and curls a hand in the thin material of his shirt, a bizarrely intimate move that he would never have allowed himself even a month ago. Against his will, his eyes close. He isn’t sleepy, but the sudden warmth and comfort hit him like a drug. 

“Why did you get awkward when I called you cute?” 

There’s a poorly-hidden edge of hurt to Barry’s question. That was never Hartley’s intent, although in hindsight, he can see why Barry took it personally. (He’d snapped “Of course not” with more force than was strictly necessary and all but fled the room.) “Joe had just entered the room. I was afraid you hadn’t noticed.” Because he can’t let Barry believe he’d meant to hurt him, he murmurs, “I’m sorry for snapping at you—and for leaving so abruptly.”

Barry tilts his head so that he can give Hartley a bewildered glance. “You think I wouldn’t have called you cute if Joe was in the room?” 

It’s Hartley’s turn to be flummoxed. “I assumed you haven’t told him about—this.” They’ve hardly been discreet, but Joe generally prefers to stay at the precinct. Whenever something summons him to STAR Labs, Hartley avoids any displays of affection. 

Barry blinks. “I told him after you kissed me. He wasn’t exactly thrilled, but…” He affects Joe’s deep voice. “‘You’re an adult and I trust you to look after yourself. Just tell Hartley that if he hurts you, he’s gonna have more to fear than the CCPD.’” A soft chuckle, as warm as the arm around Hartley’s shoulders, signals the end of the impression. “You should have seen his face when I told him we’re roommates.”

“You didn’t have to tell him.” Hartley doesn’t mind being discreet. (If he’s honest with himself, a luxury he rarely permits, he would like to find someone who would be proud of him. He was thrown out on the streets for daring to take pride in his identity; in his most furtively vulnerable moments, he wants someone willing to acknowledge this. When he stops being wishful and reminds himself to be practical, he’s fully aware that he doesn’t deserve to ask anyone to take pride in him, much less take risks to be with him.) 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Between breaths, Barry’s blank confusion morphs into abject horror. “Hartley, I’m sorry—”

“You don’t have to apologize. If anything, I’m grateful that you feel comfortable enough with Joe to ask that question.” Hartley came out impulsively, not because he felt safe to do so but because he couldn’t have lived with himself if he didn’t. If Barry feels safe enough with Joe that he can’t imagine negative consequences from his choice of partner, Hartley is grateful. He might have to say as much to Joe the next time their paths cross. 

“I wouldn’t have told him if I’d known you didn’t want me to.” Barry nuzzles against Hartley’s jaw, seeking absolution. Hartley gives him a gentle kiss. 

“I would only have advised silence if you thought coming out to him was—”

Somewhat unexpectedly, Barry bursts out laughing. “I didn’t know that’s why you were worried! No, I came out to him years ago.”

Hartley raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Well.” Barry ducks his head, laughter still shining in his eyes. “I think he knew before I did, honestly. But he didn’t mind. He was a little clueless at first, but he didn’t mind.”

“Knew before you did?” 

“Uh…how much story do you want? Because I might start talking and just kinda keep going, so…shut me up if I get annoying.” This is far from the first time Barry has prefaced a personal story with such a disclaimer. Hartley wants to know who gave him the impression that his stories are bothersome. “And yeah, I was kind of an oblivious kid. Angry, too, although by the time I got to high school I’d mostly gotten used to Joe. And, yeah, it was right about high school that he started just out of the blue asking me if I had crushes? I think he was just trying to be a good father and stay up to date on my life, but it was awkward.”

Hartley chuckles. He’s gotten that impression from Joe—not from talking to him, but from occasional glimpses of the way he interacts with Barry. He seems both in awe of and bewildered by his foster son, a combination that often manifests as awkwardness. 

“And I kind of always had a crush on Iris, because, I mean, she’s just—she’s kind and she’s funny and she’s _clever,_ and who wouldn’t have a crush on her, but that’s not the sort of thing you tell her dad. So whenever he asked, I told him about girls at school, and it was all true—I mean, I did have crushes on them—but when he just, like, asked about my day, I’d wind up rambling about boys.” Barry seems keenly embarrassed by this. Hartley hides his smile in Barry’s shoulder lest he embarrass him further. “I guess I thought I just looked up to them or something? Because, y’know, I was this scrawny little nerd, and they were all handsome and stuff…”

“I understand that feeling.” Hartley had rationalized away his first crushes using similar logic. 

“But yeah, in retrospect, I was head over heels for them, and Joe could tell.” Barry chuckles. “And finally—he waited until Iris was out with friends, but he sat me down, looked at me real serious, and said something along the lines of ‘Barr, you know, right, that you’ll always have a place in my house no matter who you love?’ And I was _so confused!”_ He squeezes Hartley’s shoulders. “He actually had to walk me through realizing that I liked boys. So no, he doesn’t mind that I’m bi.”

“Just that you’re dating a dangerous metahuman.” Hartley smirks. “Does he consider me a bad influence on his virtuous Flash?”

“Uh, he doesn’t like your attitude.” Barry blushes and covers his mouth with one hand. 

“Not all of us had positive role models to show us how to be selfless, upstanding citizens.” Belatedly, he realizes the bitterness in his voice is almost certainly what has made Joe dislike him. “That was unnecessary.”

“No.” Barry clutches him closer. There’s an apology in the insistence of his touch. “After what your parents did to you, I understand why you don’t trust people very much.”

There isn’t a good way to respond to that, so Hartley doesn’t. (“I trust you” springs to his lips, but he dismisses it. Not only is it too vulnerable for his liking, it’s vaguely pathetic given the context.) Instead, he adjusts the blanket.

“I—I totally understand if you would rather not, but I’d love to hear your story about, y’know, realizing everything. If you want to tell me. Which you don’t have to.” Barry kisses the top of Hartley’s head, clearly to quiet himself. Hartley hums contentedly, pleased with the kiss if not the reason behind it. 

“It’s all right.” He hasn’t told anyone the full story; at first the sting of it was too fresh, and by the time the pain had dulled, there was no one he trusted enough to tell. (Once again, he’s forced to admit—to himself if not to Barry—how deeply he trusts this adorable speedster. It ought to frighten him more than it does.) “I suppose I should preface this by saying that I never had the close relationship with my parents that you have with Joe. They wanted a son of whom they could be proud, and I was…very seldom what they wanted.” He’d tried to be, even kept a list of his shortcomings with helpful tips for fixing them, but his hard work accomplished little except triggering a breakdown shortly after he finished boarding school. He sees no reason Barry should know this; it would only break his tender heart. 

“Why wouldn’t they be proud of you?” Barry asks. “You’re a genius!” 

Hartley shakes his head. “My father, in particular, wanted a leader—I was to take over Rathaway Industries, remember. Hard as it may be to believe, I was a painfully shy child. Being clever, asocial, and several years younger than everyone else in your class encourage silence, not leadership. I had the dubious honor of leaving boarding school without a single friend, which hardly demonstrated my ability to foster positive working relationships.”

Barry makes a soft, pitiful sound as though Hartley has struck him. No doubt it’s incomprehensible to such an outgoing boy that Hartley endured—and indeed enjoyed—an isolated childhood. 

“The upside of this, of course, was that I could dismiss anything resembling a crush as desire for social acceptance. I managed to suppress or misconstrue any inklings of my sexuality until college.” He laughs. “I wasn’t any better at making friends, but studies have shown that students who partake in campus activities do better in their classes, so during the activities fair, I signed up for everything.” 

That earns a little shocked laugh. Hartley finds himself smiling, pleased that something about his sorry tale is amusing. 

“Most of them didn’t last, but I found myself drawn to the Queer Student Union. I was woefully uninformed, but I sat and listened and eventually realized that I was attracted to men.” He chuckles ruefully. “It felt so starkly true that I couldn’t keep it a secret. I knew my parents would be unhappy, but I thought, I’m away at college most of the year, even if they hate me they’ll never have to see me.” How naïve he’d been. “I suppose, in a way, I was right.”

“Oh, Hartley.” Barry wraps him in a fierce embrace. Tears sting his eyes, and he tells himself they’re a response to the heartbreak in Barry’s voice. 

“I’m glad—” His voice wavers. He clears his throat and tries again. “I’m glad you’ve never had to deal with anything similar. But, yes, that was my fear.” 

Barry doesn’t reply, although after three of his accelerated heartbeats, he pulls Hartley into a kiss that feels like a promise. What he’s promising, Hartley isn’t quite sure, nor is he going to ask. If he doesn’t know what he’s being promised, he can’t be disappointed.


End file.
